Passages of Naught
by Lonely Anomaly
Summary: AU. When a group of homeless children survive the elements of Victorian London in a band of four, how will they react to a new member in the making? Please R&R I worked so hard on this! Ienzo/Myde Lumaria/Even
1. Chapter 1

Passages of Naught- Prologue

Passages of Naught- Prologue.

Collected in these documents were the accounts of five children in the estranged days of Victorian London. Some are diaries, some were dictated in third person by the children themselves in their later lives. They have gone forgotton, but I, Roxas, believe that they should see light. I have repaired these documents and have exposed them for the world to ponder and explore. Therefore, the first chronological document:

Ienzo's Diary Entry Number One.

_The year is 1902. At least the year in England is; I really don't know about other places. Now that setting, or some of it has been uncovered, I suppose I should start with my name, status and other things one should dictate in a diary that one writes for oneself but like all secretly desires it to be found. _

_Psychology, really._

_Well, I should be a gentleman and start with my name. My name is Ienzo Aos. I am fourteen years old currently. I don't really know where I live, as I am a vagrant. That is correct, I am homeless; a "street kid." However, I am not alone, if I was, life in "Victorian" London, as they call it (It's a faux pas if you ask me. Give something miserable an eloquent name, and it becomes simply _marvelous.) _would be miserable. _

_Unbearable. _

_Deathly. _

_  
Grim._

_Dark as the smog filled skies under which I dwell aimlessly, living one day at a time, stealing and begging to get by; the cobblestones are my mattress, and the alleys my domain. Life filled with grandiloqent senators doing nothing, women in fancy dresses. My companions mostly ignore it, but occasionally the trend gets to them. _

_Ah, my companions. Our little 'gang'. Lets see, Braig; he's sorta the muscle of the group, black hair about shoulder length, and a white streak darting through his locks, probably caused from shock; or at least that's what Even said. Even is the second part of brains in the operation, myself being the first. And Lumaria. He's not really anything in particular. He just keeps us from becoming insane. I feel nothing but pity for the boy. He's only ten, after all. Even is twelve, Braig is fifteen. I am in the middle, fourteen. We haven't a thirteen year old yet. _

_Nor will we ever. Lumaria was the only exception to this, as he was left simply to die on his own. No more members. EVER. Four is enough. We had another member, whom I was quite partial to; Eleaus. He was fifteen when I was thirteen. He left us suddenly though, and none of us know what has become of him._

_But I stand firmly. No more. The real reason Lumaria got to stay was because Even had a soft spot for kids. (Although he was one himself.) _

_We have no governship, no politics in this group. If we did it would tear us apart. No one was carte blanche, no one in control. In the heat of running, stealing or fighting, whoever was the most kamikaze and brazen was the impromptu leader. Mostly that was Braig, but Even would step up occasionally. _

_I however tend to shift to the shadows. I myself did not steal this red leatherbound book for myself. Braig stole it for me; yesterday was my birthday. I don't care. Birthdays come and go, they mean nothing. After all, it does not matter when you were born, as our lives all come to an end eventually._

_If I am so young, you may wonder; they why can I write and speak so fluently?_

_Well, I am…prodigious to say the least. I graduated primary and secondary school at the age of seven, and university _(A/N: High School in the 1900s)_ at the age of nine. My parents were not very rich in their time, so I snuck in under the name of a rich kid who had passed away unknowingly before. No one noticed, judged. They were all to wrapped up in their own lives to notice the oddly quiet but wunderkind child who sat in the back. _

_Wretches, all of them._

_I hate describing myself. I abhor describing myself. Need I add more adjectives? _

_All I can say without wretching from the distaste is that I am short, with hair the color of dark chocolate, and I hide behind it. My eyes are grey. There. _

_The ink is starting to blot, because it begins to rain now. It does that in London a lot. I wonder if it rains in hell? If so, I wouldn't know the difference between hell and where I dwell currently. _

_All is well. It is probably one in the morning, as it is pitch black with no sense of light. But it is always pitch black in London. Dismal and dreary. That the end has come for someone, and we just shake our heads in silent monotone, nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone dies eventually. _

_Everyone wishes, I believe, for naturalism. That something so outrageous will happen to them, and they have to survive on what they have on their own. I am not that stupid. Nature and God himself are far above whatever you may have at that moment, or at any moment. Even the infallible 'instinct.' Ignorance sets thou for disaster. _

_Well, enough of my ramblings. They are useless anyhow. No one would want to hear the ramblings of a fourteen year old who believes himself to be philosophical.  
_

_Good night._

_Ienzo Aos. _

BORDEROMG

Document Two: A dictation from the Man they thought was lost, but was there the whole time.

Ienzo sighed. He did a lot of that lately.

"Honestly, Ienzo, I haven't the clue why you are in such a fuss." Even paused, looking from a magazine he discovered lying in the gutter. He loved solving the tangles of soaked, smudged words. Something idiosyncratic of him; he needed to keep his mind busy at all times. He probably had a mental disorder.

"I am in such a fuss, Even, because I know not where Braig and his idiot friend Dilan are? We need things to live, Even. I certainly can't get them."

Even snorted. "You need a haircut." He added, changing the subject.

Ienzo replied with a 'Im-so-amused-but-not-really' look.

"Funny, Even. This is impossible. One, we could not afford it, two; I do not trust you with a knife, albiet close to my face, as far as I can throw you."

Even growled, shook his head, refreshing his senses momentarily. He did this when he tried to get his brain back on track. Probably had ADD, or something. But even _he _could not be mad, (he was a grouch most of the time.) as today was actually nice. Sunny, which was uncharacteristic of London, albiet in Winter. Well, it would be winter in two days.

It was sunny, but as cold as an alternate hell.

The scientist scowled, furrowing his brow in concentration. Even was odd in appearance. Probably not as odd as Ienzo, with his brown hair flopping over his right eye, completely concealing it, in combination of his…stunted…height. But Even was definitely different.

First of all, he was probably the only blonde person in the dark side of town, with the exception of Dulor the barkeep, but he was Austrailian. Even said that didn't count.

Stranger still, his hair was almost feminine, hanging down to his chin, jaggedy at the edges from lack of proper hair. Although the most striking thing about Even was his eyes; a frosty green, like spring itself, but with a coldness like winter. He wore glasses as well, spiney, wrangled frames, barely holding oval lenses in place. Even came into possession of them through a nurse whom he was begging for money for, but he called her 'mister' and the lady took him in for examination.

Even was lost in thought, and tended to look angry when he was. But the naiive one of the group, Lumaria, couldn't tell the difference.

"Even? Are you mad?"

"No." Even replied bluntly.

"Oh."

Lumaria looked down, his face that of a child who had seen too much in his short life. Not all of it necessarily bad, but all of it powerful. He was odd as well, with long, wavy, uneven hair going to his shoulders, the color of autumn leaves. Eyes aquamarine.

He was four years younger than Ienzo, yet about two heads taller. This was probably Ienzo's source of loathing towards the kid.

Although he wasn't too keen on social cues, none could say he wasn't bright. He was intellegent, but moreso manipulative. He was usually serious too, but on days like this, he reverted back to being a child again. He was only ten.

"Cheer up kid!" Came a brusque voice, characteristic of a gruff old man, or a teen with his voice changing. It happened to be the latter.

"Braig. Where have you been?" Ienzo deadpanned.

"Getting stuff." The forementioned replied sardonically.

"Be more specific, and more importantly, weren't you with Dilan today?"

"He's on holiday with his family."

Even gruffed, and mumbled under his breath. Lumaria looked down at his toes.

"Quit being so sore." Braig barked at the two, who straightened up, and flew right.

"What stuff did you bring, anyway?"

"Food. Potatoes, and an egg, but it was rotten, so I threw it at an old carriage."

"How thoughtful of you." Lumaria rolled his eyes.

"Hey, man! It wasn't worth stinking up the alley!"

"Braig, you're as dumb as hell." Even said offhandedly.

"We can't all be freaky genius children like monotone Ienzo and even Even."

"That was unnecessary." Ienzo droned.

"Hey, that's what you and science boy get for having weird names."

"Even is not a weird name." Even defended weakly.

"Yeah, if it's spelled 'E-v-_a_-n, so really, your name is _even_. Like even numbers."

"You can't even count to two." Ienzo spat, cursing himself internally for saying 'even'.

"Do you really want to insult the guy who brings you food?" Braig threatened emptily.

"Shut up. All of you! I hate it when you fight!" Lumaria spat.

"Whatever. It's five o'clock. Let's eat." Lumaria's tone, turning to a murmur, now freaking out about his consequence for insubordination.

Even put a hand on the youngest one's shoulder.

"He's right."

Braig growled, but could not deny the fact that he was hungry.

Thus, they ate potatoes. Raw.

BORDERSSUCKHOLYSHIT

Document Three: Even's Journal.

_Never had I had a more quiet meal. Ienzo was always quiet, but the others were alarmingly so. I've never seen Braig shut up except in his sleep, and even then he talked. Subconsciously, of course. But today was pleasant, to say the least. I've never seen anyone so not miserable. Myself included. But, once it turned to sunset, and the streets became awful again, the mood faded. _

_London was hell at night. The inferno itself. _

_Except dark. _

_  
Dark like the blackest of soot, the darkest of coal, the richest of ebony. And it usually rained in the winter, never quite cold enough to snow. It was freezing rain, too. Miserable stuff. The only light came from streetlamps, usually one in many blocks that had not been smashed by delinqents. But the way its light reflected austerely off the smooth, wet pavement seemed like the street was just waiting, gleaming for the hooves of a funeral cart to come by, just to break the morose silence. _

_The alley itself, an inlet from the dirty London streets was yet another dead path in this labyrinthe we call a city. It was nothing special. It was a dirty inlet on the corner of Perth and Esment Street. People threw their trash there often, and we had resorted to this in desperate need of food. Extreme desperation. We had some standards. _

_Why? We needen't know. Why would anyone care about the standards of street children.  
_

_I shiver in the rain subconsciously, but this time, my body, normally tame to the cold, was shaking violently. It was never this cold in the winter. I could feel the rain solidify the moment it hit the ground. Even in the air. It was cold, excruciatingly so. _

_Braig could sleep through a twister, I swear. _

_Lumaria, on the other hand was convulsing in his frantic sleep. His fingers were turning paler by the moment, his breath hitching. _

_Hypothermia. I pity the poor man without a blanket and no street smarts tonight. Neophytes to street life often die on these nights. No one, even on the streets, helps them. The less vagrants the better. Less people, bigger quota, more food. It boils down to survival, and that's it. _

_Frostbite and her sister Hypothermia are lurking dangerously to the roseate-haired boy next to me. I sacrifice the sack I use as a blanket. I can handle it. I have done so until I found Braig those years ago. My body takes naturally to chill. However, the boy could not. I layed my blanked over him, still warm from my body heat. Lumaria whispered something incoherent, and smiled in his sleep, his convulsions stopping completely. _

"_Good Night. Or as close to one as we could get. Things will get better for you." I whispered in the sleeping boy's ear. _

_Lumaria whispered in his sleep, this time it was decipherable._

"_Even." _

_I smiled for once. _

_I cautiously stepped away from the sleeping form beside me, creeping along to my corner in the back of the alley. My surreptitious journey was cut short as I picked on the rustle of pages nearby. I froze, and crept stealthily to the edge of the alley. I expected a drunk or something, but I saw someone very familiar. _

"_Ienzo?" I whispered, under my breath, so soft even I could barely hear it. _

_Ienzo looked up from, as I now see, is a book. A book with blank pages. A diary? Similar to my own? The pale boy furrowed his brow and continued to dictate further. _

_Even though I am the third member in our group, (Braig and Elaeus were first, but Elaeus dissappeared.) and Ienzo a close follower; I've known him for eons. We converse, but it's forced, terse conversation. Ienzo is eloquent, however he isn't verbose. _

_  
Ienzo was odd, to say the least, his quirks the eptome of uniquity. He was a genius, as well. He had a heightnened sense of smell and keen sight. (Of this, I envied him.) But he was a depressed and stoic individual, conservative and if personalities were colors, his would be of the utmost opaques. However, the oddest things I've noticed about him is that, NEVER in my life have I seen Ienzo sleep. _

_Not once. _

_Insomnia to its finest. _

_It leads me only to the conclusion, that he is terrified of sleep. No one could survive like this without becoming at the least sporadic. His energy is induced by fear. His nocturnal pattern has become so habitual, that his body has adapted to not sleeping. What I wonder most is: What could have happened that could have caused his insomniac behaviour? _

_I shook my head of thought, and observed Ienzo once more. _

_He sat at the curb, his knees huddled to his chest, his torn linen shirt all but worn bare, his homemade pants constructed with old sacks and twine loosely hanging at his waist, his hole-filled shoes constantly moving to conduct warmth. He wrote furiously by the light of the moon, which occasionally he would steal a glance at, glaring vehemently as if the satellite had caused him great travail._

_Shock ran through my body as I stole a look into silvery blue eyes, usually dead to the world with listlessness, filled to the brim with emotion, glaring with fire, and sadness. The wrought-iron fence across the street guarding a cemetary and a decrepid moseleaum, reflected in the gleam of feeling, a surreal gaze to those usually dull eyes. _

_I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. _

"_Even."_

_Big mistake. _

"_Ienzo? Is that you? I've been trying go to sleep, but.."_

"_Even. You are lying. You were watching me for five minutes." _

_That vehemence in his eyes was gone. Dissappeared from the world, like it never happened, and it left me wondering if ever _did_ happen. _

"_Ah,"_

"_Even, go to sleep."_

_I didn't feel the need to argue. I didn't need that malevalence directed towards me. _

"_Ah, Good night then, Ienzo."_

_Ienzo nodded in my general direction. _

_I merely crept back to my corner, scared at the now frightening Ienzo, trying to rid myself in the spike of emotion so strong it was haunting. Never would Ienzo cry. That gleam would remain a crazed expression until that boy learned humility. Not going to happen. _

_Oh the Irony, he was stuck up in a homeless way._

_I smile to myself, a light chuckle tingling my lips, repeating itself as Braig snored loudly. _

_Noapte Bune (Good Night in Romanian.)_

_Even Michaels._

Document Four: Ienzo's Journal Second Entry.

_I'm not going to put 'dearest journal' or anything, because that would be useless, as this is an inanimate object. Not a person. It has no heart, no life, therefore it is nothing. Just a thing. _

_It's sad really, that's what they used to say about me. Nya, I'm a hypocrite now. First a cynic, now a hypocrite. How many more levels of smartarse-ity are there? _

_Cursing only works if you are Braig. _

_I know Even is in the shadows watching me. He never really had talent being surruptitious. I'm going to stop writing for a moment…_

_Even was lucky. He caught me being human. It shocked him, obviously. His eyes were wider than the Thames river. He never was good at putting on a façade. Even he had thought me inhuman. An anomaly, a mutation, a thing. Someone who I had expected to be my somewhat friend in this hell. Ah, well. I'm probably over reacting. Even was just shocked because he was caught in the act. _

_I fear I'm going senile at an alarmingly young age. _

_The pound of rain had stopped long ago. Now, we are greeted by a foreign substance. Snow. White, and peacefully silent. The streets dare not breathe, it would disturb the unperturbed void God had given to us. It feels like the symbol was sent for us. All of us._

_Something good was going to happen. I let a smile grace my lips for once. _

_It faded, and I curse myself for believing in such ingnorance. The snow is going to be black with filth by tomorrow afternoon. _

_  
Such was the way of the world. _

_But for once, I will let myself be peaceful. Just to watch the snow fall in its calm achromatic silence, filling the darkness with a light illuminated by the moon. The refraction making everything light. Something so monochromatic should be disconcerning. But it erases the filth that we have to endure for so long. It feels like we are in a temporary place, an idea even I would submit to, despite its ignorance. _

_I want to see the moors again, the calm front, the swaying tall grass the rocks place idly on rolling sloping hills-_

_I'm letting this fantasy slide. _

_I hear a noise. Instinctively, I double-take to glance at Even, who is now in a sound slumber, Lumaria tucking himself in the crook of his bony arms. _

_I almost smile warmly. But this cuteness was interrupted by the noise, now constant. _

_A shuffling, like boots. _

_I snap around, seeing a figure immerging coming closer behind a curtain of white. I examine it. It's relatively tall, about as tall as Lumaria, who was almost as tall as Even who was about six-foot-one. _

_  
The shuffling comes closer. I'm trying to stay alert, but I feel my eyelids drooping, and I'm falling backward. _

_  
The swishing is now faster, getting nearer. I feel faint… _

_A hand is holding my head up, my head…I'm gonna…_

_--_

Chapter One, Part Two: Myde

Document One: The Rememberance of Myde, as told by Ienzo Seven Years later.

I remember that day. Cold as hell, it was. Had to be the most cold day of my life. The first time I ever saw that face, the face I will never forget…

I remember everything. Every breath, every waking detail. Even's expression that day, the second I woke up. Its easier to write down.

The Day I Met Myde:

Even stared at me. He stared at me like I had just died, then come back to life instantaneously, which I somewhat did. I guess going withiout sleep for months gets to you after awhile, and I had a relapse, and I remember thinking I had lost consciousness at a very crucial time, and the memories pre-coma flooded back to me. The man, er, boy! Where did he go? I grabbed Even by the shoulders of his worn wool sweater, fingers getting caught in the various holes. It was so vivid to me, I even remember the scratchy rough texture of the red monstrosity.

"Even! Where is he? Where's the man?!" I was lucid. That man could cause effect to our docile lives. He could steal our stuff! Our friends. Well, I should speak for myself.

Even looked down.

I heard a voice that I did not recognize.

"Whoa. Is he alright?"

"I hope so." Braig grunted, kicking me in the side.

"Damn you-." I shot up like lightning, really not in the mood for these insiduous acts of annoyance. But I stopped when I saw a face foreign to me.

A face that can not be put into words. However, I will describe it as best I can.

There was a boy, he couldn't have been older than my age. He had shaggy blonde hair, but it wasn't really blonde, sort of a mixture of brown and blond. It was messy as hell, sticking up in ways that defied gravity. He had blueish eyes, and loose clothing that depicted nothing but poverty. I snorted.

"We do not take charity." I scoffed.

"Y'know, Ienzo, you can be a real bastard." Even spat, suddenly. I stared at him shocked.

"What?!"

"Myde saw you lose consciousness, and softened your fall. He waited all night in the cold just for you to wake up, because he had the crazed thought that it was his fault you were down for the count. Don't bullshit him. Would you have waited? I wouldn't. Hell, if I knew it was you, I wouldn't _want_ you to wake up!" Even shouted all in one breath.

I spun my head around.

"Myde? Who's Myde?"

Even's beet red face could be reflected in even the disgusting brown slush of the street. That was saying something. It was like frozen tar, except worse for your health.

"After all that?! That's all you could get out of it?! WHO'S MYDE?!"

The boy stepped forward. I remembered noticing how unmarred his skin was, akin to mine. His cheeks were rosy in the cold air, his black clothing swaying in the post snowstorm wind. And just like I predicted the night before, the beautifully monochrome blanket that had quiet the city was now brown and disgusting like mud. Except worse. I was lost from my thoughts, when he spoke, a soft voice that depicted someone full of happiness. I remember being annoyed. But I think his voice sounded like it disguised a singer's voice. But it was hoarse from the cold, so the music did not shine through just yet.

"Actually," he said sheepishly. "I'm Myde. Myde Render." He offered a hand. I ignored it.

"Um-…"

"Thank you for your _charity_ but now that I am awake, I'm afraid you are no longer needed, so therefore, good day."

I swore if I had access to a heavy mahogany door, I would have slammed it in that kid's face.

"IENZO!" Lumaria and Even shouted simultaneously. Lumaria's face afterwards turning the same shade as his hair.

"Yes?" I droned.

"Ignore him." Even said. "He's just cranky. Why don't you stay, a little lon-;"

"No. I don't believe that Mr. Render would want to share the company of _street kids._ I'm sure he has a _family_ who's worried sick about him." I was seething malice at that point.

"IENZO!" All three, excluding Myde who was staring at his feet like they were soooo interesting, shouted.

"Actually." Myde whispered. "I don't have a family. Well I do, but they--.." Tears began to fall from blushing cheeks.

"It's okay." Lumaria stepped forward, giving the boy a hug.

Soon, the happy façade of Myde came back, but his eyes were full of a sadness of one who endured many hardships. One who had been in pain.

"Wait-!" Lumaria shouted as Myde walked away, glancing at me one more time, before moving among the throngs of people.

"I cannot believe you. You are unscrupulous." Even spat, biting his words at the ends profusely.

"I—Even!" I called.

"Do you even have a heart?!" He shouted. Braig just shook his head.

"I'm going to drink. Dilan and I are. Now, I actually believe I need one."

Even sat in the corner, keeping company with a now eleven-year-old Lumaria.

It was his birthday.

I groaned. Even's words haunting me as he glared seethingly at me.

_Do you even have a heart?_

_  
Do you even have a heart?_

_Do you even have a heart?_

…_Have a heart?_

My eyes were wide in horror. What did I say? And before I knew it, I had bound into the throngs of people.

To go look for a stranger.

A stranger named Myde. A name I wouldn't soon forget.

Document Two: Myde's Thoughts in which he dictated on a taffy wrapper and a napkin.

_Why the hell am I writing?_

_The oddest thing has happened. _

_  
I met someone, someone I thought would be kind, but was cold. _

_Ienzo? Was that his name? He was strange. Cold, stoic, unfeeling. But I could see through that ruse like it was sheet ice. I have a talent for that, you know? Seeing people for who they are. I learned something from that thing I called mother once. I learned the most important thing: Don't let your guard down, just let others think you have. _

_Bullshit._

_But Ienzo… He doesn't leave my mind for some reason. His face. That face…it is so similar to my own. A face of someone broken. The face of someone who doesn't want to be broken anymore. The face of a façade. A blank wall to hide behind, void of all emotion. _

_His companions were hospitible. Even and Lumaria…and Braig, was it? It was nice to meet people. I miss kindness. _

_Ienzo. What an odd name. My current residence: The bench behind the bushes behind a tree in Rutherford Park. I'm not sleeping in the tree. That is just too cliché. _

_-Myde. _

Document Three: Ienzo's Journal: Fourth Entry

_No one is going to get into our band of misfits except the four of us. It's been that way since Lumaria joined. _

"_It's only going to be Braig"_

"_Even."_

"_Ienzo."_

"_Lumaria."_

"_BREAK." _

"_Right then, down to business." I had said. _

_I sit here now. But not in the alley. No. I'm in a park, on a bench. Just pausing in my two day search for Myde. Yes, I have been searching for two days, and it's about two AM on the second. I have not the sightest clue why I am searching for this guy. It makes no sense to me, but I feel like I have to. Hell, I don't even know the guy. My fuel for going is the words Lumaria said before we left. _

"_Ienzo. Would it kill you to make it five?"_

"_Quite variably." I had said, coldly, running into the pandemonium that was Parson Street. _

_I take it back. _

_Why? No clue. But the first step is finding Myde. _

_Until later, _

_Ienzo _

Document Four: The incident as remebered by Ienzo.

There was a rustling in the bushes behind me. I was tired and was not thinking very coherently, so the only legibly understandible thing to a half-comatose person was:

OHMYGOD IT'S A BEAR!

Thus, I had effectively jumped ten feet off the ground.

But it wasn't a bear. Although it looked like it. The fuzzy hair hung behind the fence of where I was sitting. Was it a dog? A stray?

I absentmindedly pet the furry thing.

"Poor thing. Looking for someone? Something." No response.

I sighed. It was probably dead. Damn.

The rustling started again. But this time, a head popped out behind the fence, followed by arms and a torso. I almost screamed.

The 'furry thing' rubbed its eyes. I froze. It wasn't-I wasn't-

….

….Oh.

Dear.

God.

"MYDE?!"

In response, the mentioned shook his hair, blinking.

"I-Ienzo?" He blinked sleep from his eyes.

"H-Hey, Myde."

"What're ya doing here." He murmured, obviously still drowsy.

"Er..I was..er..looking for you." I mumbled, suddenly bashful.

"Oh Oka-WAIT. Did you say you were _looking_ for _me._?"

"Yes." I said almost incoherently.

"Why?"

"I just, er, wanted to say—."

I was interrupted when a pair of warm arms grabbed me tightly, cutting off all possibility of breathing.

"GACK! MYDE! CHOKING." I gagged.

"Oops. Sorry." He said, letting go. He was warm. I wasn't thinking, due to the foreign contact, and said something I really, at the time regretted, but not that much later.

"Hey, you can stay with us for a while, I guess, until you find somewhere else to go."

"Really? Thanks!" He smiled brightly, but his eyes showed emminent sadness.

"Myde?"

"Huh?"

"You aren't happy, are you?"

Myde looked at his feet.

"Is it all that easy to tell?"

The trees made their own song, rustling in winter wind, the snow on the ground fading away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**A/N: I changed the formatting, I wasn't exactly happy with the first chapter. Italics in fanfiction hurts my eyes. The point of views were still off. Past and present tense, Y'know? Anyways, I work extremely hard on this story, trying to get in 5000 words per chapter, and try to use every power to make it good. It has become a part of my life, and my previous Language Arts teacher has a copy of it, and she loves it. As a parting note, Please review and tell me what I did wrong and right, and how I can improve. Also, I am looking for a beta. Good luck with that me, you newbie. :P This chapter was written to the songs: Summer Skin by Death Cab For Cutie, What Sarah Said by Death Cab for Cutie as well, and Your Guardian Angel by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Anyone who doesn't know Death Cab for Cutie needs to because they have a beautiful sound and inspiring, deep lyrics. Perfect for story composition. **

After sitting on the splinter-infested park benches for a considerably lengthy amount of time in contented silence, me apologizing for my cruelty and Myde just shaking his head acknowledgingly, Myde suddenly up-and-left, hopping off of the bench in one would hardly call a flourishing motion, his gangly limbs sprawling out under him to break his fall.

"Ienzo."

I looked up. His face and dishelveled hair framing his face quite nicely but with the look of sorrow that he had worn on his sleeve.

"I'll see you later."

"Wait-!" I spun around, but Myde was already gone. Dissappeared, like he never had happened. Never occurred, like he just ghosted over my life just a bit, a slight carress that made me shiver. I felt numb temporarily, and only by sheer willforce did I manage to remove myself from that seat.

The London sky was black with the dismal smog that always condemned us to this dreary lifestyle. Even said that the smog was killing us. I told him that it was welcome. I had long thought about the mystery of death. My life was so horrid, I thought what could be worse? But I knew in my heart that death would get you nowhere. It would get you a cold body in the ground., or, more likely, on the streets. Contemplating death marks a sad existance indeed. I decided that if death knocked at my door I would let it in. The dismal pattern of my thoughts kept me occupied for a little longer, the exact increment of time that had past I know not, but when I looked at the clock tower that loomed overhead a beacon of light in this deathly gloom, a beacon of hope for the many poetic hopless there are out there. Making their songs in thier somewhat philisophical heads about how the light will pull them through and the various slivers of hope that make up a miniscule fraction of the pie of dispair. It was pathetic optimism. Petty hope that only results in empty promises ultimately leading to an empty life.

Do not get me wrong, I am not a pessimist. I am a realist under bad circumstances. Something in the moonlight left me questioning my belief in myself. As my eyes bore in the enlarged sphere that hung over the canapy of darkness that we all seemed to dwell, I had wondered about things I never contemplated.

Was Even really my friend? Was our bond that strong? And of Eleaus! What has happened to that poor fellow. Why is Lumaria so foreign to me? Myde. What about Myde? Is he a ghost to make me question myself? Something out of the words of Dickens? A novelization of my fears?

My mind was pounding in my skull, and to prevent it from doing so further (I am not fond of headaches quite frankly) I pinched the bridge of my nose and held it inhaling deeply. The effect was instant.

The park was empty. Deserted of nothing but swings swaying softly in the night breeze. The cold winter air rushing by my flushed cheeks sending with it memories of old lovers and couples, and children sharing their first kiss in this park. The memories of Myde and I talking just a moment ago. It was peacefully idyllic, and I decided for once to let go and allow the spirits to have their way with me, to manipulate my mind with pictures of peace. The wind whispering soft stories of happiness and calming my mind, music of a quiet string instrument washing over my mind and singing like a sirens song. My mind shuddered when it stopped, the voice so beautiful, so mystical. Were these visions memories, or platonic images brought upon by painful insomnia. The music resumed sometime later.

My eyes fluttered, my lips parted as I reveled in the beautiful sounds, thinking that this is what a mother would sound like singing me to sleep. This wind wisping around me would be her embrace. What had brought on these thoughts I cannot proclaim, but I was happy for them. I was in limbo, hypnosis, a half sleep. The music…

My eyes fluttered open just enough to see a boy fading into the distance with a guitar slung behind his back. I tried to call out to him, but my body was so weak…Over my mind, my body won.

--

Even's Journal.

I was scared to the very depths of my bones. Ienzo was not coming back. It had been almost three days since he dissappeared into the city streets. No one could survive those streets alive. Lumaria barely could. The poor fragile boy. I looked at him, the shivering of the night before was a precedent to this night. He was writhing uncontrollably in his sleep. I was not much older than him, but more expierienced. He was still so naiive. A personality undescribable.

Thinking about it, pondering something, even trivial, would take my mind off of Ienzo for a bit, at least. Pondering for me was my survival in the harsh reality of the world.

Lumaria has puzzled me for a very long time. He is like my son, my friend, my brother. He is definitely not from England, as he has a heavy accent. He appears innocent, but there might lurk something guilty behind those blue eyes. There is no doubt that he is brilliant, his natural curiosity and his preference to the older people in the group are tell tale signs of that. He is inquisitive, generally happy in mood, but his eyes belie dispair. He is serious, in a carefree way. He is a deep thinker, with an odd certainty in his tone of voice. Like he has a purpose, like he needs to solve something, or overcome it. He is generally quiet by nature, and attempts to be the peacemaker, as he obviously distastes conflict of any kind. He fights to be stong, not to dominate.

At least that is what I have gathered.

Lumaria's convulsions in his sleep begin to worry me, as sickness in this city is increasingly common. Every passing second without Ienzo is not returning, and every second Lumaria shudders subconsciously; they are in tune with each other, painting a painful symphony in my head, the Overture of a play of anxiety. My eyes hang hauntingly open, my hollow face somehow draining more into my skull. I look like a skeleton.

Braig and Dilan sit in contented silence. I know that they will go drinking later. Ienzo caused that. Him not being here. It puts worry on Braig, and Dilan has basically become one of us. I believe that Braig has a feel that he is the utmost guardian. He has to take care of us. Including Ienzo. The haunting reality that Ienzo might be dead… I cannot imagine the pain it puts on the bones of Braig's proverbial shoulders. The ever concerned parent.

My only hope is for peace. I had decided as soon as I became a vagrant; peace and stability were my hopes and goals in my life. It was so, too. Everything was a routine. Unpleasant, but stable. I was content. It stopped when Lumaria came into my life. I had a different purpose. And today, I am not clear on that purpose. It is a foggy as the harmful London skies.

Now, my once stability, stability that was slowly forming once more, its progress, construction crumbles like an ancient fortress under siege. My mind and life in temporary, yet silent, perhaps controlled, anarchy.

The sun is rising. Four days without Ienzo's return. I hold my breath and Lumaria stirrs. I have not the good news to tell him. Somehow, I think he already knows.

--

The Bar Record of Dulor the Barkeep, January 14th.

Business is slow today, as it is too bitter for many to go out in the frigid cold, even to get something to warm him up. London always had the most dismal winters. In Australia, there was no winter. The doorbell on hanging above the frame of said door rung signaling the arrival of two people. Something in the pit of my stomach told me it was Braig and Dilan, my somewhat regular conversational partners. Their visits, I have noted, have become more frequent lately. Latently, I wish I could ask why.

"What brings you two fine gentlemen in today? Scotch? Whisky? Poker?"

Dilan chuckled.

"Scotch for me." He replied. I grabbed a glass, pouring the potent liquid into the tiny cup. Braig nodded that he wanted the same.

"Anyways, why so early? No one drinks this early. People are usually still in bed with mad hangovers."

"Like hell we got sleep last night," Braig replied pointedly. I could tell by the look of the two, that they hadn't. Their eyes were dull, posture slouched, and generally appearing disheveled.

"Would it be rude as to inquire why?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Missing comerade." Dilan gruffed, downing his scotch. Braig winced.

"That's not good… I'm sure he'll be ba-"

"It's been four days, Dulor!" Braig shouted. "He should be back!"

"He's probably dead." Dilan moaned dismally, burying his face in his large hands.

"Shut up! He's not dead! He can't be dead!" Braig spat.

Obviously, this was a pent-up and touchy subject for them. Therefore, I retreated to a chair behind the counter and took to shuffling a deck of cards absentmindedly.

"Stop screaming." Dilan replied in an even tone, making a gesture with his hands in an attempt to calm his fretting friend.

"This is shit!" He yelled, banging his fist on the counter of the bar.

Dilan turned to look out the window with an expression full of grief and exhaustion.

Braig shot his scotch. "Another." He said.

Dilan had the money. This time, he would not drink sparingly. That I knew. I knew his companion's circumstances. We found out a lot when he first became mildly intoxicated. Your lips are loose when drunk.

"Goddamn you-Ienzooooo." Braig muttered before replying "Another."

Dilan didn't drink as much, I believe the incident is sobering to him. But Braig.

_Another. _

_Another_

_Another_

_Another._

I had to open a new bottle of scotch. Dilan just watched his friend worridly. I offered him a sympathetic look, which he accepted.

"Who needs you Ienzoooo! You ass!" Braig cheered to the celing.

"Braig-"

"Dilan, ol' buddy! Did I mention how awesome you are. Not like that little turd Ienzooo!"

"Braig.."

"Another! I'm feeling lively!"

Needless to say, the poor boy was smashed.

It was poisonous to drink that much scotch, so we started replacing it with ginger ale. Braig was so drunk, he didn't know the difference. Once you drink enough alcohol, the burn goes away. After my wife died…

"Another my good man!"

I decided not to charge Dilan for the ginger ale. Just the scotch. Braig was cackling like an idiot soon after as well. I stared at the ginger ale callowly. Could you get drunk off this stuff?

The dusk hung in the sky outside the window, and patrons started entering. Braig was still acting like a fool, and I winced. Not good for business.

"Braig, we should go.."

"Another!"

"No." Dilan said firmly. "You've had enough!"

Dilan threw Braig over his shoulder, and walked out the door as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Dilan..You're so pretty. I loooovveee youuuu." And Dilan rolling his eyes afterwards Was all I saw and heard as the two left my sight and hearing range. I smiled absentmindedly for a while, worrying about how Dilan was going to fare the rest of the night.

My senses came to when something shiny caught my eyes. The bill..

Braig had paid for the ginger ale. I shook my head. That guy…

--

Even's Journal.

Lumaria stirred for about five minutes before falling asleep again, his brow knitted between two roseate eyebrows. Sweat cascaded down his cheeks and forehead as he cried in his sleep. Tears mingling with sweat, dancing about his face in a saltine dance characteristic of a friend's tango. He looked peaceful in a great amount of what I can imagine as pain. He croaked, his voice cracked. Lumaria suddenly afterward screamed. Screamed bloody hell. His eyelids opened, but his eyes were rolled in the back of his head. He looked demented. He started clawing a the air as if he was trying to grasp what wasn't tangible.

I had never been more terrified in my life. I wished Ienzo was there, he was always sensible.

"Lumaria!" I shouted, shaking him in a vain attempt to stirr him from his terror. Make it go away. "LUMARIA!!" I was hysteric, crying myself, the ultimate fear of losing Lumaria flashing in and out of my eyes. "LUMARIA! Wake up!" I screamed, my voice choking in my throat. I hit the dingey wall of the valley hard as if it would help the situation. Lumaria and I screaming, patrons walking by shaking their heads as another one bites the dust. Dammit. This wasn't fair! Why is death so expected! First Ienzo, now Lumaria!

"Lumaria.." I sobbed into his hair, smelling sweetly of roses. When does the hair not smell of dirt here? A rarity indeed. My tears dampened his hair colour making it a darker hue, an auburn unmatched by any artist. I realized the full cold reality of what losing this boy would do to me. It'll be like-

"Mmmp." Lumaria awoke, and propped himself on his elbows. "Even?" He asked softly.

He was awake. The thought had hit me, and the instant relief was like a panacea for all wrongs. Tears fell from my eyes as I smiled and pulled him into a strong embrace. His eyes widened considerably and he blushed.

"Lumaria."

"Yes?"

"Don't ever do that again." I ordered through muffled cries.

"Hey Even?"

"Hm?"

His eyes were closing as he went limp in the hold. No..I wouldn't lose him…

"I feel sick. Real sick. I'm gonna sleep, okay? So, just be there when I wake up, m'kay?"

"Please," I whispered; "Please don't go. Don't leave me again!"

"Even. I'm not dying, I'm just sleeping for a bit, right?"

"Don't! Lumaria!"

"Good night, Even. Noapte Bune."

I wrapped him in my arms, as he closed his eyes, I was relieved to here the light breaths of sleep reverberate off his small torso.

Y'know? I'm kinda tired myself… He makes a good pillow.

--

Ienzo's Diary.

I awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache. Pain shot through the tendrils of my nerves making my head feel heavy. I examined my surroundings. Still at the park, I see.

As if in a state of REM, music flooded my senses. A beautiful lullaby. A soliloquy of many emotions. It was if dreams were put to music. A soft voice like a siren, a porceilan doll of humanity singing as if hung delicately on angel's wings.

I shook my head and the music stopped. Wait…

Someone was playing music the night before!! I was too lost in my thoughts for the source of it. But it was like it was a song for me. The lyrics were muffled in my mind, as if they weren't important, just there. The music, oh the music!

After Myde left, someone played music to me! No, it was long after Myde had left, about three hours. Enough time for him to come back. But…it couldn't be Myde! Dammit I always fall asleep at the most inconvienent times.

I searched around the park. The solomn flashes of happyness the music summoned, stories depicting idyllic camraderie and romance were gone. Replacing them was the cacaphony of screaming children and their wealthy parents, barking dogs chasing after targets they never seem to catch. But no music. The incessant noise had driven me to my feet.

Something told me to move on from this place. And as if the place were a person, I gave it a curt nod before setting out northward. I needed to ask Myde about the music, anyways.

The townhouses I passed were all the same shade of brick, its color a deep rusty red, with moss growing in the mortar due to London's moist climate. If there was any wood, it was painted a disgusting black. The shingles, although made of slate were an ugly dark mud brown. I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

The buildings went on and on, each looking exactly the same as the last. As I continued my journey, I felt my uniquity degrade sporadically. It was turning into miles of the same things. Smoke poured out of dingy chimneys. I felt the sense of intentional dehumanization. A sense of doom. The stupid buildings continued seemingly infintismally. Glowering at their height like policemen to stalk out and kill the color in a world of grey. It felt as if they were searching me, following me. The inane similarity causing my mind to personify all it saw. I grew weary. There were no alleyways to sleep in. All the houses were seamlessly seared together.

It was like there was no life at the end of the dark, monochrome tunnel. I could sense my sanity seeping away like the rainwater in the cracks of the cobblestones.

The endless search for Myde was fueling me. _The music_ was fueling me.

I had to hear that music again.

I had to see Mydes _face_ again.

I just had to.

And I knew not why.

Chapter Three up next yo.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

I would love to take a moment to recognize those who have reviewed on my story:

xGothicxSerenityx, Mellow(Get an account! We're all nice here!), StoryofGreen, Mousikos, and Monkee Girl. (If you want your name here, review!) I'd also like to thank those who have subscribed and favourited. It is totally a compliment and thank you all for your support! 6 reviews! That's three reviews per chapter! That's _great! _**basks in pride**

Hello, And welcome to the tertiary chapter in Passages of Naught. We interrupt this message to bring you stupid giddy bouts from the author about how this is her baby and you should review or her baby will die: -brick'd- Now, How many of you have bought and/or read the new Artemis Fowl book? I bought the sucker the day it hit the shelves, and the graphic novel and I enjoyed both quite thoroughly. It is amazing people, probably one of the best. Now, this was written to 'The Book of My Life' by Sting. If you have not heard that song, say this to thee will I; It is the** Zexion song. I mean **the. **Sting even **sounds **like him. It's freaky y'know? I got OpenOffice, and I like it because it fills in my long words for me. :D This chapter will be longer than the last. I swear it. Featuring: Actual **proofreading! PRODIGIOUS!** I'll face it: I never proofread my shit. Ah well, enough about me; tell me about **you.

Tertiary Chapter Thrice.

Ienzo's Journal.

My mother never said I was smart. She never said I was a prodigy of a child, the epitome of brilliance.

No.

To her I was _beautiful. _

Beautiful Ienzo, with his thick, hazelnut hair, bordering on chocolate. With his alluring facial features; a heart shaped face, beautiful cobalt eyes that shone like the desert sky at night. A countenance fit for angels. So _angelic._ He had to be a girl.

My mother always fantasized about having a girl. Having a beautiful, elegant daughter, someone she could marry of to a rich family.

The illusions of me being a girl ended when she bathed me. When she bathed me, she would purposely get soap in my eyes, stick the solid bar in my mouth, the wretched taste invading my mind as I would slam against the wooden panels of the tub, spilling soapy water onto the stone floor in the washroom. I would watch it spread in trails like an infectious disease, my reddened eyes observing the eddies it made when met with an obstacle, usually the cracks where the bricks had met erosion.

When I showed her my first loose tooth, she grabbed me by the collar of my cotton shirt, slammed me against the wall violently, grabbed the small expanse of bone and _ripped. _It _hurt_.

I knew my mother was insane. But these memories are best left for another time.

The point was that to most, I was stunning, and also, I did not give a _shit._

Beauty can only get you so far in this world. I strived for something far more prodigious.

Wit.

When I was younger I had told my father before he left that I had wanted to be 'the smartest boy in all the world.'

I probably was.

I had opportunity with beauty. I could be a model or a prostitute. But I wanted to be a scholar. I wanted to be a great scholar and discover something amazing, something earth-shattering.

Something that will change the world.

But all that was trivial drivel now. The only thing that mattered now was survival. But I vowed I would never be so low as to stoop to prostitution. Never.

That, in itself, did not stop prostitution from stooping to me.

I was _fourteen or fifteen._ I did not need to be bothered by prostitutes. It was a hindrance to my desperate search for Myde.

But, as my mother said, I was _beautiful._

That in itself, to me, was _ugly._

Pearson's street was not crowded on the weekends, as that was to where I had drifted. Not quite near the alley. That was Esment Street. Twelve blocks down from Pearson's, which was idyllic in a rustic way if you put it politely, or perhaps on a brochure. Normally, main strips of road like Pearson's were bustling with activity; the tantalizing aroma of fresh baked goods that the plump man nearest to Tyson's Lane produced, the beauty of the flower shop with the pretty shopkeeper Aerith Gainsborough had neatly displayed a bouquet of wild daisies, smiling as she hummed a small tune, going about her day; The sounds of the hooves of horses and wheel _clack-kink clack-kink_s echoing on the small, dirty cobblestones, each brandishing their share of wear and tear. It was usually a pleasant place to be if you happened to have money, or if the weather was nice.

But now it was a harsh winter, and the place was just dead.

The wind blew tiny branches and old autumn leaves along streets where few patrons had tread. The flower shop had closed, Aerith gone to her mother's in Ireland. How would we know? She put a sign on her door that said so. Honestly, in these life and times...

The baker's shop had its doors closed from letting the cold droughts in and in any way making the artisan bread stale.

The clicking and clacking of carriages was absent, and the only patrons on the street were lone figures walking solemnly wrapped in filth or faux velvet. Street kids like myself looked at me with disdain.

Why? I was one of them. No. I was different. I had _pride._ And I was _beautiful. _But I was not proud because I was beautiful. No. I was proud because I had the intelligence that could change the world.

But who's cocky, ne?

I walked with an air of dignity. Something I shouldn't do, but it was aftermath of my mother's ministrations in trying to make me the proper 'lady'.

I remember even Even looking upon me with the vehemence that these children gazed at me with now. He _hated_ arrogance. Him and Braig alike.

But I had eventually wormed my way into their hearts, and things were the same, as it were.

However I was approached by the kind of patron walking on the street wrapped solemnly in faux velvet.

"Hey Honey," Said she, the girl with voluptuous lips plastered on a face so caked in make up it looked like frosting on a birthday cake. She had buck teeth, and wispy thin hair so strained with hoaxes and gimmicks sold on the street to make it more shiny, or voluminous, or whatever. The hair looked somewhere betwixt shit brown and piss blonde. It even had a hint of hues closer to the verdant realm of the color spectrum.

"I have not the money, nor the time madam, so I bid thee good day." Said I with an authority so brusque I felt a bit proud of myself. I began to walk away, but the goddamn prostitute stopped me.

"But honey," She crooned, trying her damnedest to be saccharine sweet and oh-so-irresistible. "I'll do it for free. You're such a pretty thing."

"I said I haven't the time, now if you excuse me I'll just be on my-" I began to step forward, rushing to find Myde. I needed to find Myde- But I was caught off guard when my feet were caught, as the prostitute leaped at my feet, grabbing my ankles.

"Do you know how long I've had to sleep with dirty, ugly old men?!" She screeched, staring at me with tears in her ugly eyes, an ugly chartreuse that looked like regurgitated bile. I didn't have time for this! The wretched whore continued anyway.

"So long have I been on the streets, and nobody, NOBODY has been as pretty as you! You are the most gorgeous man I have ever layed my eyes on! So please," She choked, tears running riverbanks in the copious amounts of makeup, staring up at my cold features. "Make love to me."

I tried to shake her free but she just kept holding on, not letting me go. I heard the clanking of heels behind me, leaving me to think _why cruel world?!_

"Jesus Christ! Carina, you desperate bitch, let th' poor lad go!" Said a cockney accent I detected was completely female.

"No! He's beautiful! Jus' look a' 'im!" The first sobbed. Honestly, my ankles were getting chafed.

"Shut up you fat whore, 'es just a kid, for Christ's sake," the lady glared, and of course she was in my blind spot, so she was as strange to me as this whole scenario was. I heard a muffled scream and I felt my ankles become unclenched, and was about to make a run for it when a surprisingly tight hand gripped my shoulder.

"No' so fast kid."

I turned to see a blonde woman with elbow length red velvet gloves, a velvet gown of the same sanguine, her flaxen hair going down to her shoulders.

"How many-"

"I ain't a prostitute," Said she, as she held out her hand. I noticed the body lying on the ground. Needless to say, I did not shake her hand.

"She ain't dead. I knocked her with my heel in a specific spot, so she's goin' sleepy for awhile," She gestured at her hand. "The name's Arlene. Don't forget it."

"Well, thank you for your assistance, Arlene. Wait, you're not going to ask for something in return, are you?" I cocked an eyebrow accusingly. She merely laughed, her verdant eyes shining deadly in the high noon sun tucked behind the winter clouds.

"I told you I ain't a prostitute," She commented dryly. "I just have a personal vendetta against my husband who sleeps with them all the time," Arlene added.

"Ah, well, I'll be going then," I nodded my adeiu and began to make an exit.

"Ienzowe."

I spun around, looking at her incredulously. How did she-

"You're looking for Myde, aren't you?" She added, her face twisted into an evil, shit-eating smirk.

"Y-yes," I stuttered trying to keep composure.

"Well aren't you lucky, Myde has friends in holy spaces, you know. I'm his cousin, but if you're leaving, I mean, I'd hate to bother you..."

"No way am I leaving now." I said, giving her a cold hard glare.

"Good, then you'll have to follow, Ienzowe."

I followed thinking only a singular thought: It was disturbing hearing your name in a Cockney accent.

--CLIFFHANGER--

Even's Journal

Braig was _drunk_.

Head over heels smashed.

I took a small rest from taking care of Lumaria to glare at Dilan vehemently, without regards of the giggling man slung over his shoulder, now untying Dilan's braids out of their respective holds.

"Yer so pretty, Diiilllan." He hiccuped.

"Dear God, Dilan! A few drinks! A FEW!"

Dilan raised an eyebrow, a break in his face's usual ennui. "Aren't you going to wake him up with all your racket?"

I glared at him menacingly. "He's comatose, Dilan," I growled.

"Comatose?" Braig dropped to the ground with a _thud._ He giggled more after that.

"He had convulsions all night, and I honestly thought he was going to die," My voice dropped and I became softer, sadness in my eyes. Lumaria...

"I can offer assistance..." He began, gesturing his arm. I shoved it away. "I don't care. He'll be fine. It's nothing serious. I just hope Ienzo arrives back soon. It's becoming more difficult than I would have imagined."

Dilan shook his head and glanced at me, a distance appearing in his brown/gold eyes.

"Finding that kid," He began, a solemn look about his countenance. "Is something that he must do. Otherwise, I think;" Pause. "He would never forgive himself. It is the same for you and Lumaria, and Braig and I. It just _is._ I haven't yet found a way to describe it. That complete devotion and that urge to _care. _It is quite interesting if you ask me."

Caring for Lumaria. That urge to _care.._

"He'll be with me for the night," Said Dilan, his eyes daring at me to oppose. "He's in no condition to stay here. As for Ienzo, he'll be back, give or take the amount of time it will take."

And with that, the burly man nodded his assertion, picked up the skinny man on the floor, reslung him over his shoulders, and disappeared into the city streets once more.

Just like Ienzo did five days ago. And I pray for him to find Myde.

Lumaria moves in his sleep, his docile features glowing a sickly pale. Those cerulean eyes were clenched in pain, his body arching up at random periods. The closed walls that would evoke fear in any claustrophobic made Dilan's retreating footsteps and Braig's drunken giggles reverberate as echoes. I turned back to Lumaria, who's hips were bucking up as he convulsed. He collapsed shortly after. I carefully cradled him in my arms, whispering things that I only prayed would prove to be a panacea. He sighed in his sleep, and it was a relief to me, that when he was hurting, he wasn't in pain.

My eyes scanned the alley once more, catching onto a package on the floor in the corner.

It was a book.

_Stole this for Lumy. Give it to him when he wakes up. _-Braig.

A diary.

Like my own, and like Ienzo's.

Ienzo, I do not know which to wish for more. For you to find Myde, or for you to come home.

Tomorrow would be another day, I swear.

--Back to the Action!--

I followed Arlene for a few blocks, eyeing her cautiously, to which she just sneered, her perfect teeth, including those sharp canines, a menacing reminder that she held the power in the situation. She held Myde over my head. _She _was a sadist. A manipulative bitch.

Once again, cursing only works when you are Braig.

We reached a yellow cottage, wedged between two dismal townhouses, in a rather comical sort. There were flowers growing behind a whitewashed picket fence, the door simple and white, matching the white flower boxes hanging on the six-paned windows. She stopped before opening the whitewashed gate, and turned to me, that smirk that can only be described as shit-eating glaring at me in its pearly glory.

"Listen, Ienzowe. You get three visits. Once you're three visits to my house are gone, you are too. My husband would not like to have a strange male, not to mention a pretty one such as yourself, questioning as to where his wife is."

"Oh," I grinned, matching hers. "You are evil."

"Thank You," Said she, as she pushed open the door, and led me inside the entryway. The wood floors creaked as they were stepped upon, the walls yellow, a buttery flaxen akin to the outside posterior. She lead me to the kitchen, terra cotta tiles made clacking when her heels stoked them. The tin stove was glowing orange through its grout as it burned, keeping the house warm. She sat at a walnut table, gesturing at me to do the same.

"Where is Myde?" I asked, getting to the point.

"My, aren't we impatient, Ienzowe," She smiled.

"Yes, yes we are," I replied sourly.

"Well then. Myde was here a few hours ago, and I can only guess where he's migrated to now. All I know is it's not home."

"What's wrong with home?" Things were getting suspicious.

"Now, I've been sworn t' secrecy by Mydeykins himself."

"That's disconcerting," Said I.

"You should check the park again, he's usually there, helpin' the lil' kids."

"He helps kids?"

"Does whatever he can. Dunno why. He's an idiot. A happy-go-lucky idiot."

I was tired, and I wanted to see Myde again, I would do anything, at this point to fulfill my mission and go back home.

Therefore, I rose.

"Ienzowe."

Therefore, I ceased, glaring angrily at her. I wanted to go!

"Don't get involved with Myde."

"Why?" I didn't want to hear this.

She quieted her voice, dropping the Cockney accent. So it_ was _fake!

"Myde himself won't hurt you. Not intentionally, anyway. No. But the people that surround his life would without hesitation."

She rose and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I glared vehemently at her in return.

"You're a cute kid, Ienzo. Don't get hurt."

"You needn't worry." I said coldly, rising and leaving the house without a word, but paused in the entryway when the presence of an acoustic guitar caught my eyes. I heard her footsteps draw closer, but I had an uneasy feeling of connection, so I dashed out, without a word, hearing that beautiful melody from that night, ringing in my ears.

"Damn kids," I heard her mutter. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

I ran, my small body heaving, all the way to the park, to which I last saw Myde.

--HOLY BLEEP A CLIFFHANGER!--

He wasn't there.

Myde wasn't there.

I buried my head in my hands, the gloves with the fingertips missing from wear and tear and their respective ligaments entangling in greasy chocolate locks.

Maybe,

Maybe Myde wasn't real. Maybe this is all a dream, and I'll wake up, and Lumaria and Even and Braig would present me with some water and some 'wow, you had a rough night.'s.

No. This had to be real. It couldn't be false. Just, NO!

I felt desperate. I felt like I was going to cry. My dignity hurt.

"You okay?" A voice. A familiar voice.

"Huh, Yeah," I stumbled, getting my composure. I've never had these problems before! What is with me?!

A rough hand tucked itself under my chin, tilting my head up.

"Chin up, friend!" He said, and I raised my eyes up slowly from the ground to see...

Myde's smiling face.

I had found him.

With the lack of reply, his eyes unscrinched from his grin into an expression that could only be described as 'cute'.

"What's wrong?"

"Myde," I said calmly, my usual facade back up. Back to being cold and callous.

_What a relief._

"Huh? How do you-" He looked at me, his eyes widened in recognition.

"IENZO!" He yelled, gripping me in a bear hug.

"Yes, Myde, you idiot. Did you know how long I've looked for you?" I seethed.

"IENZOIENZOIENZOIENZO!!" He squealed, swinging me around in his arms.

"Myde, put me down this instance!" I demanded, he dropped me onto my but, looking guilty.

"Sorry, Ienzo."

"You're forgiven, for now," I warned.

"You were looking for me?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, I even went to you're cousin."

His eyes widened in what looked similar to panic.

"M-My cousin?!"

"Arlene. Your cousin," Now, I was being psychological. Obviously, family was a touchy subject. I needed to explore this more.

"Yes, A-Arlene. Bitch, huh?" Myde stammered.

"Quite," Said I warily.

Silence.

"Myde?"

"Yes." He jumped at the opportunity of conversation.

"Have you heard any strange music lately?"

"S-strange M-m-music?"

"It sounded like..." Smirk. "Guitar music."

"G-guitar music? Why Ienzo! We're in London! There isn't guitar music in London! It's usually fortepiano, or harpsichord music! Ienzo, that is a s-s-silly thought."

"Yes, Myde. That would quite explain your incessant st-st-stuttering. It seems as if you have something to hide," Oh, was I crafty. Yes I was.

Myde sighed in defeat, running his hand through his blonde/brown hair.

"Yes, Ienzo. You win. I play guitar. Though, I cannot fathom how you figured it out..."

"Oh? Myde, It is because I _heard_ it."

He blanched.

"You heard it?"

I nodded.

"Oh, oh God. You weren't supposed to hear it! It was a sort of a farewell...ah, but well. It doesn't matter now that we have crossed paths again."

"So it seems."

"I guess," He paused staring down the row of opaque townhouses, as if he was trying to see Arlene's little cottage. But his face was so forlorn. "We can't stay away from each other, is all."

He smiled genuinely.

**Author's Notes part two.**

**If any of you caught the Panic at the Disco pun in there, leave a review and you are my new best friend. attention whore **

**Ahhhhh it's done!! It was _such _hard work! I decided to bribe myself. I would not read the new chapter of **Dualism's **_Surgeon Generals Warning _until I finished this bastich. Now, If I can be half the writer Dualism is, I'll be happy and beyond. I am most likely repeating the words of others. Oh, well. All is calm on the western front because SOMEONE GAVE ME A FANART! drools Yes, it is true. Someone gave me a fanart of Lumaria, and I am very happy. Thanks stickfigurealucard. Thank you to hell. brick'd**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four **

**This chapter is dedicated to 6-The-Cloaked-Nocturne-9, and Shadow-Walking-Tactician-VI for their amazing constructive criticism. This whole chapter. The entire thing. Yep. I want to show my immense gratitude, as it is the first time I have ever gotten concrit in my life, with the exception of the English professors that have waltzed their way about my life. Also, in an answer.**

**  
I am extremely conflicted in inserting Saix. There will be Xehanort, and Ansem, but just not until much later. There will also be Elaeus. It is planned. Also, Is it Aeleus or Elaeus? DAMMIT! **

**Author's Notes: Many have a hard time believing I'm barely fourteen. Well, in response to that, let's just say I'm...odd in persona. I have a myspace for that though. I'm a very, well, strange entity. Get to know me? Insert Aura of Doom Also,**

**  
HOW THE HELL DO YOU USE PRIVATE MESSAGING ON FANFICTION. NET?!**

**..plz tell me. **

**On with it! Thanks for the reviews! Thanks for the support! 3 Also, this chapter is actually two chapters merged together, so it'll be longer than usual. **

Ienzo's Journal.

"Myde," I had said offhandedly. We had been sitting next to each other in contented silence. Silence was my friend, as it never questioned my motives.

"Ne?" He responded, running thin, calloused fingers through his blonde/brown locks. He looked nothing short of melancholy.

"I wonder, what do you think life is? I mean, what are your views on life. I imagine they're very different compared to mine."

"Huh? Life?"

"Life."

"Well..." He paused for a second, considering it. The trees rustled in the wind. "I think life is like an ocean."

"Explain."

"Well, the ocean has waves, and life does too! I mean, life is not like a wave, but like a shore. Sometimes you get beat by hurricanes, sometimes you enjoy the calm of the surf, and sometimes you ride a couple of mildly choppy waves. It just depends. But, ever so slowly, your shore will erode, and you lose some of your essence. It's fascinating. Sometimes you will get shit washed up on you, shit you don't want to deal with, y'know? And sometimes, _sometimes, _you get a treasure. A particularly nice shell, or a gold piece. It's these things that your shore will live for. And they imprint in your sand. Your heart, and your memory, even for a little while, even if they are washed away; they were still _there._ They still _existed. _They are still your essence. That, Ienzo, is what I think about life."

Myde is much brighter than I had taken credit for. That monologue was, well, _good._

"What do you think about life, Ienzo?"

I knew what to say. Even asked me this already, as did Lumaria.

"Life, my friend, is like a book," Myde rolled his eyes. "A book. There are things that happened, chapters if you will, about love, and God, and other things. But, even you cannot read the end of your own book. That, Myde, is what I think about life."

"Typical," Said he. I frowned.

"Typical?"

"You are so left brained, Ienzo. Clean and concise. It's funny, really. Even said the same thing. Stubborn as an ass and just as hard headed. If it ain't theory, it ain't nothin'."

"Even," I growled. "Knows nothing."

"I think he knows more than you credit of him."

"Myde," I warned.

"Ienzo. Have you ever seen the sea? Ever heard its music?"

"You're weird." I said simply.

"I'll take that as denial," He smiled. It irked me.

"I have been to the ocean once," I replied.

"Only once? I used to live there, you know?"

"How was it?"

Myde smiled, an expression I can only describe as breathtaking. His breath as well looked like it had taken itself away. Like the fondness was amazingly warm to him. He grinned.

"It was beautiful," He said simply. "That was before, she left, of course."

"Who left?"

"My mother," He replied, wistfully. Then, he looked at me. "Ienzo, have you ever been in love?"

I looked at him, feeling very, very uneasy. I knew what I was going to say, as I had relayed it over and over again, but this time, I felt the words betraying, I bit them as I said them.

"I don't believe in love."

He looked at me pitifully.

"That's sad," He whispered.

"It was how I was raised," I shrugged.

"I understand you better now, I think."

"How so?"

"It's something that I think you need to see for yourself," He replied vaguely.

"I suppose so," I noted absently, my mind somewhere else. My eyes locked onto his.

--break--

Even's Journal.

If it's one thing I worry about more than Lumaria, its Braig.

More so, it's the relationship between Braig and Dilan.

I don't know how they could have met. Braig is a homeless child, and proud of it. Hoping to never live the other way. Dilan is an upper-middle class university graduate. It clashes.

Yet the bond the two share is the deepest one I've seen ever. It makes no damn sense.

Dilan is so ennui. Braig is so...not.

I remembered when they first met. Correction; when I first met Dilan.

_Flashback:_

"_You've gotta admit it Even," Braig said, tossing a hand to the side languidly. Aeleus (I chose that spelling.) looked up from his book in acknowledgment. _

"_Admit what?" I had replied warily, knowing that Braig had a knack for mincing words. And mischief. _

"_Those rich snobs! They just, well, they just kinda bite. I mean, there's those guys that live up in 'Frat-town'. They're total assholes. I was walkin' along, mindin' my own business-"_

"_Somehow I doubt that," Aeleus smiled, looking up at Braig._

"_Okay, man. Maybe I was trying to set this guy's mailbox on fire..."_

"_Braig!" _

_  
"Ugh, guys! Well, anyways. I was walkin' along the suburb right off Parson's,"_

"_You mean Twilight Heights?" Aeleus supplied helpfully._

"_No, I mean Dante's Seventh Circle," Braig scoffed sarcastically._

"_Braig, do you even know what that is?" I had asked, quizzical, an eyebrow raised, causing my glasses to slide off of my nose a bit. I adjusted them with my middle finger._

"_Geez, even-Even. In all actuality, I don't. I just know it's bad."_

"_It's the seventh level of Hell you imbecile!" _

"_Like I said, bad. Anyways, if you'll let me tell my story..."_

_Silence._

"_Okay! Well, I was walkin' by this huge yellow house, and, like, it looked like nobody was home, so I took out my penknife and picked the lock, maybe to steal a pair of socks or something."_

"_Like money?" I supplied still put-off by the defamation of _Dante's Inferno.

"_No, and quit interrupting! Well, as I said, I was halfway through the icebox when this huge bear of a guy comes out! Almost as big as Aeleus here! But he looked, well, weird."_

"_Weird how?" Aeleus asked, not at all put out by the insult he was just given. I think he was used to it by now._

"_He was big, but he was really skinny. He had black hair all tied up in a weird way I haven't seen before! And it was long, like even-Even's hair was before we chopped it up. It was just plain weird. He looked foreign, like from another country. Or another world. He had an...enigmatic...face, and his eyes were a dull brown. The oddest thing though, was the perpetual look on his face. It wouldn't go away!"_

"_What was it?" I asked before I could stop myself. Braig did always have a knack for storytelling. _

"_It was...Boredom."_

"_Boredom?" Aeleus and I looked at each other in identical confusion._

"_Yeah, like he never got any joy out of life. It was so surreal."_

"_What did he do?"_

"_The guy said, and I quote 'I don't feel like fighting so just get the hell out of my house.' in monotone. Fucking monotone! And I bolted with the meal you're all eating now. That's how I lost my shoe too. Fucking bastard scared the hell out of me."_

_Aeleus and I stared subconsciously at the bread we were munching on. _

_After Braig smiled, satisfied with his anecdote, he stood up._

_And was clapped on the shoulder with the biggest hand I'd ever seen._

"_Relaying the facts?" A deep monotone said, in exactly as Braig said, boredom. _

"_Ho' Shit?!" Braig jumped five, no ten feet in the air. _

"_What are you doing here?!" I screeched, always on the defense._

_He shrugged. "I wanted to return this to you." He replied solemnly, offering Braig his ratty shoe back. Braig faced widened in recognition. _

"_You!"_

"_Me," He countered monotonously. _

"_Why did you come back?" Braig asked, astonished. The other man just shrugged, his shoulders moving more than what was probably necessary for the occasion, but also as a sign of no ill-will. He was sort of ennui.  
_

"_I told you, I wanted to return your shoe. I thought it would be the right thing to do."_

"_Even after I ransacked your house?!" Braig shouted, eyes lit up wit something similar to wonder. He was going to get his ass kicked, I knew it. The other man visibly winced. _

"_Yes. And I wanted to give you this," He held up a fancy envelope. Braig took it with hesitation eyeing the other may slowly. _

_The man continued. "My name is Dilan. Please do not ransack my house again," He deadpanned, although with a hint of amusement in his dull voice. _

_I opened the envelope. In it..._

_was 100 pounds. I snapped, as usual._

"_We don't need-" I did a double take to where the man was once standing, but when I looked, Dilan was already gone._

_  
"You're charity..." I finished weakly, courage and countenance visibly deflating._

"_Dude..." Braig whistled, looking astonished. "Dilan rocks." _

_None of us said anything the entire rest of the night._

_--_

Yes, that was how it happened. And, it seems I have payed attention to this storytelling for too long, as Lumaria is convulsing again.

"Wake up," I whispered into his ear. "Please."

I placed a chaste kiss on his sweaty brow, then adjusted my glance to the horizon.

The sun was going down once more, and I had this gut feeling that Ienzo had either found Myde, or he was dead.

"Ienzo, of all these times, you leave in my one time of need."

--break--

Ienzo's Journal.

Myde.

Myde.

Myde.

The name was like the wind reverberating off of the invisible walls, or perhaps clouds, that surround a secluded sea. My mind was left questioning things I've never questioned before in my life.

_What is this boy doing to me?_

I looked up to hear a soft rustling sound, and saw Myde shuffling about, wind blowing his knitted blue scarf, and his tawny hair, so rustic coloured fluttered in wisps, blonde bits tangoing with brunet. It was like the journey of leaves floating on a passing wind.

And those eyes.

_Mawsitsit. Chalcedony. Cerulean, Azure, pale, _whole.

_Flashback o1: Gemstones;_

"_Ienzo, what do you know about rocks?" Even asked, casually looking up from his rain-soaked page, putting the chalk he was writing with down, and the piece of coal at its side, making a soft clatter as the chalk rolled away forgotten, and the coal sitting there looking out of place._

"_Rocks? Even, what brought this up?"_

"_I am curious," Retorted Even, as if this was all the reason in the world, and that it is the most obvious thing in the world, which it wasn't. _

"_Rocks, or rather, gemstones, Even?" Aeleus raised an eyebrow, In silent offer of explanation when it was necessary. _

"_I don't know, I was just curious. And it's in this crossword I was doing." _

"_What do you expect us to do?" I glared, perturbed by the fact that I was interrupted from a very interesting book. _

"_I don't know," He replied snappily. "Name a few gemstones."_

"_Diamonds!" Called Braig, almost automatically. Always obsessed with the finer life, though he'll never admit it... _

"_No, doesn't fit."_

"_Rubies?" Offered Aeleus._

"_No," Even replied._

_I wracked my brain in an inane plea to become temporarily the superior intellect in the group._

"_Chalcedony?" _

_Everyone stared at me in confusion. _

"_What?"_

_  
"What's chalcedony?" Asked Braig, curious. _

"_Chalcedony? It's a gemstone rarely found in any mainstream countries anymore. It's a cerulean colour. It has tiny flecks of grey in it. It's a dark blue, not exactly cerulean..." I tucked my thumb beneath my chin, pondering this._

"_How do you know this?" Aeleus asked, curious at this bit of knowledge. _

"_My eyes," I replied, not realizing at the time that it was terribly vague._

"_You're eyes...?" Even asked again, confused._

_I looked at the ground._

"_My eyes, are chalcedony. My father had a hobby for rock collecting, and he usually said something about my eyes being something like chalcedony. I don't really remember."_

_A solemn silence followed after the mentioning of a parent. Even scratched in his crossword to see if chalcedony fit._

"_Nope," He replied shyly after a while._

"_Think of some other gemstones from your father's collection," Aeleus suggested, softly._

_The name._

_Mawsitsit. _

_Mawsitsit._

Mawsitsit.

"_Mawsitsit," I had answered automatically, as if the words were not of my own will. I shut my mouth shortly thereafter as an afterthought. It was, as they say, an out-of-body experience. _

"_Mawsitsit? What's that?"_

"_It's green. A peridot veridian unmatched by none other. There's no comparison. Except, of course envy. Green as envy. My father called the chunk he had, his most prized possession, besides me of course, at the time. The stone scared me. It was like it was watching me when I went into my father's office. As if it was reading my thoughts, no. It was if it was relaying my presence and thoughts to some ulterior source. No, still, it was if the stone was on a countdown. A countdown to detonation, or Armageddon, or death itself. It was a cats-eye. It was evil. My father loved the stone because it reminded him of my mother's eyes. That's also why I began to loathe it more, after my sister had died. My mother became a monster. The stone was cackling at me, it felt like. It's black specks like eyes, gleaming sadistically at my misfortune after a particularly harsh punishment. But at that time, with a scar above my left eye, I lost it. I threw the chunk of rock out of the window, and it landed with a crash. It shattered into a million pieces like glass. Mawsitsit. I kept a piece, it's in a pawn shop now. It was valuable, that's what it was good for. That, my dear companions is mawsitsit." _

_Even was sribbling the word into the blank boxes. After a melancholy silence, Even staring dumbly out the boxes, and the word that completed the crossword puzzle. _

"_It fits," he sighed sadly. _

Mawsitsit.

--break--

Looking at Myde's eyes gave me a new view on Mawsitsit. Perhaps it wasn't a bad thing after all, as it mixed in a dance with chalcedony in his eyes. His eyes that now looked so downcast.

They looked like stormy seas.

It was the stormy seas that had almost broken my halved heart. He looked up at me with those ungodly eyes, a smile set sprawling about his soft features.

_Like the stormy seas..._

_Flashback o2: Stormy Seas;_

"_Ienzo Aos. Get your ass up before your mother has a cow." _

_My father's voice stirred me from my comfortable slumber, filled with beautiful people whisking me away from my life. A boy, with vibrant hair was my best friend... He played such pretty music... _

"_Ienzo!"_

"_I'm awake, father," I mumbled groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. _

"_We're going to the beach today," He mentioned offhandedly._

"_Mom is letting you?! This close to when N-Namin-ne died?"_

"It's her way of therapy, dealing with the past."

"_It sounds like a world of hurt for me, father," I grimaced. _

"_Just get dressed, before Alitia comes up and does it for you."_

_I winced visibly after my father left the room. _

_Pulling my pants and shirt on, I glanced around my white room. It was monochromatic, the ceiling having flecks of plaster slowly wearing away. My bedspread was a dark maroon. It was a simple room. With a set of drawers, a desk, bed and closet. I never felt that attached to it. _

_I slid down the banister, my father frowning at the action, to my chagrin. I hopped off gracefully, and let my brown shoes slam on the ground. _

"_I have brought your bathing clothes, Ienzo," My mother said with a smile, that frankly frightened me. _

"_C'mon," My father said gruffly._

"_Ah, Mitchel. There is no reason for you to be so angered, love. We are going to the ocean, from which came the spawn of all land. All land evolved of ocean."_

"_True, mother," I nodded in assent. _

"_C'mon, I said. The carriage is waiting outside."_

_I followed my redheaded father out the front door, my mother tittering behind in that way that ladies did. _

"_My beautiful Ienzo, what are you going to do at the beach?" She had asked kindly, me staring out of the window, my face contorted in deep thought. My eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and this futile woman disturbed me. As an afterthought, I glanced at the sky. _

_It looked like rain. More so, like doom. _

_The carriage shook from a bump, and shook me from my remaining philosophies. _

"_Ienzo?"_

"_Oh, mother. I will probably swim, and observe the tide pools."_

"_Ah, my beautiful Ienzo, always the scientist," she smiled affectionately.  
_

_I grunted. _

"_But do not waste your time on science, my love, with someone as beautiful as yourself. You can do such great things with beauty-"_

_At this point in the conversation, I had tuned the monologue out. I just wanted to get to the beach, and the clouds were swirling in a way that made me quite uneasy. Swirling clouds..._

_Something caught in my throat. _

_There's a term for things like this. I just knew it. _

Mesocyclone.

_Please, dear God in heaven, please don't let it be that!_

_My mother was still droning on, looking up at the sky._

"_It looks like bad weather."_

"_It'll pass," My father responded automatically. _

"_No it won't," I muttered. Please let it be the wind, and not the thing up and coming meteorologists fear, although it is a new discovery. I possessed enough knowledge to know what it is. If the clouds got darker..._

_But they won't. I swore it. But the thought that weather is omnipotent was disconcerting. _

"_We're here," Mother said with glee, stating the obvious._

_As soon as my feet hit the rocky sand, I hightailed it to the rock I had often sat and observed the tide pool life when we came here often. A long time ago... _

_My mother's cries of 'come back' were ignored, as I stared curiously at the starfish, anemones, and other saltwater life. I looked up at the blackening sky, and back on the fish and other things in the water. _

_A sea urchin closed itself up. _

_An anemone shirked itself into a small, deadly ball. _

_I furrowed my brow, instincts telling me something was wrong. _

_I looked up at the almost ebony sky. _

_Either my parents were intoxicated or idiots. The rotation above became more organized._

_The fish swam away in a makeshift school, looking for some sort of comfort. I envied them for this, but these thoughts were interrupted by a soft rumbling in the distance. _

Supercell.

_Now severe weather was extremely uncommon in a damp, calm climate zone like England, and to see a potential severe storm swirling above was like a deathly omen to me, that things were about to get much worse. I doubted the storm would spawn a tornado, but it would lay a smack on the surrounding area, that was certain. The starfish I was observing shirked to the bottom of the sea._

_I could fill the atmosphere brimming, ready to burst..._

_  
"Ienzo! You never swim! Live it up a little."_

_BOOM!  
_

_The time in which I heard the thunder, and the time my mother shoved me into the deep water that layed on the outskirts of the tide pool was about a millisecond, and my last parting thought before I was swept in the deep undertow current of the ocean was 'I hope I didn't harm the anemones'. _

_I felt myself being pulled down, the water was frigid, tangling my limbs like the most advanced type of bond. I felt myself being tumbled, thrashed as the water had its way with my body, slamming me against briny rocks, knocking barnacles off, I, watching them floating peacefully to the bottom, only to be caught up in the tumultuous waves. I couldn't reach the surface, and I felt this sense of loss, this sense of longing. For love, for living a justified life, to be the best. There were so many things I had wanted in my life, and they were all being taken away. _

_I closed my eyes, breath coming out slower now, pinioned under a sea boulder, and by some will of god, I was woken from my limbo of sleep, by oxygen hitting my lungs. I looked around at the tumbling seas, any form of England's ever present pollution, in this case phosphorescence, chopped up and shaken with the waves in a tango of dangerous proportions._

_I breathed harshly, my breath being more frigid than the water ever was, gaseous ice hitting my lungs sharply, causing me to look at the sky in exasperation and simple pain. _

_  
The sky was glaring at me, it was breaking, all hell breaking loose. _

_It was breathtaking. _

_I felt myself hit land with the slam of a wave, the impact hurting my sides so much I cried out in pain, the air smacking my lungs with more force than ever. _

"_Damn," I choked._

"_Namine!" My mother's voice was frantic and pained, as if she was wronged or extremely worried. _

"_Ienzo!" It wasn't a call from my father as a shout for me, more so as a correction for my mother. _

_I groaned, my body breaking. _

_  
"Mitchel Aos! We never had a son named Ienzo, what are you talking about. This is our only daughter, Namine. Can't you see that?!"_

"_Alitia, can you not see, that's our first born son, Ienzo Vernon Aos! You helped name him!"  
_

"_Mitchel, as if! We have one perfect daughter, and she's dying once more! And besides, this being is so beautiful, it has to be a girl! Namine I won't lose you again!"_

_My mother laughed hysterically._

Delirium: noun. An unbreakable illusion common to those with acute mental disorders, or those who have not recovered from a devastating event.

_Ienzo! My name is Ienzo!_

_Now, there are two things going on here. I was just almost drowned by the person who thinks I am my dead sister. This person is my mother. The second is that my heart is somewhat broken by the fact that my own mother does not recognize her own son in his time of need, and she is suffering from severe delusions. _

_Add a third: Hypothermia. It was raining like Noah's Ark. _

_I felt my body get weaker, and I felt the pound of rain mixed with hail leaving a feeling of a thousand bee stings upon my body. I felt dead. My parents forgot me. I'm being left for dead. The last thing that entered my mind before I blacked out from utter exhaustion was:_

"_I wish I had a friend."_

_And I felt my father's arms cradling around me, and air rushing past my face._

_--break._

Tears were dripping down my cheeks by now, my eyes clouded with emptiness that was somehow full. Silent sobs wracked my body, I, clutching my knees, gripping the ruddy pant legs. That memory...

I let out a pained gasp as the air forced itself in and out of my body, my eyes now grey instead of chalcedony. Soiled by tears.

"Hey Ienzo?" I heard a voice.

"Ienzooooeee!! Ien-Oh, wait, Ienzo, what's wrong?"

I continued on my previous train of thoughts, words escaping my cries. "Left...for...dead...and...the...storm.." I choked out, clutching my head in agony, my temples pounding from the memories and the physical stress of crying.

"Ienzo."

Myde. Myde was here, and I didn't care. I didn't care about anything because Myde was here, and Myde was sitting next to me now, and Myde was wrapping calloused hands around my back, rubbing it gently with care, something my mother had never done.

And I collapsed into his arms, letting the tears that had been dammed up for the last six years flow freely, and sob into a soft shoulder, a boy who's cheek brushed against mine, who's soothing words echoing in my head reverberating off its sides, and mixing with my memories. A boy who was so clumsy with his ministrations that some would find it mocking and insulting. But I found solace in it.

And my eyes, now puffy and red looked up at his, a sad sea color, as if the storm went away, and left seas for sailing weather. Each orb a mix of love between mawsitsit and chalcedony. Like harmony, and symbolism and peace.

And then, with trepidation, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, awkwardly returning his embrace. He smiled softly, a trace of sadness in his own, beautiful gaze.

_And it came to me then, that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time._

"I'm sorry," I apologized quickly, still shellshocked.

"There is no need for apologies. Because tears fall on their own."

I smiled at the truth, and then, he tentatively took my hand in his own, staring into my eyes, the mixture of his entities, the two gemstones, meeting with my solely chalcedony ones.

We stayed for a while, making sure neither of us shed tears for the remainder of our time together.

**Explainin' time:**

**Mawsitsit and Chalcedony:** I had a bit of a fetish with gemstones at an early age, and I was listening to Panic at the Disco and it just came. If you don't know what either look like, google it. The thing about Ienzo's dad's rock collection just came out of nowhere, I think it was due to the chunk of uncut emerald I have stowed on my desk. This just came at me, and originally it was just going to be the one flashback about the beach, but I also wanted to incorperate this.

**Ienzo's Mother:** She suffers from an acute post-tramatic delirium disorder due to the death of her young daughter Namine. She sees general illusions geared towards her son, and her husband. It can't be cured.

**The Names:** Ienzo's name has no nationality, but it sounds common to someone of Spanish origin. Mitchel is italian and is not pronounced like one normally does. It's pronounced (Mee-tchell) and Allitia was originally going to be Beatrice, I didn't like it, and I think the origin of Ienzo's name had to come from somewhere. Her name is pronounced (All-ee-tee-ah). Ienzo's full name in this case is Ienzo Vernon Aos. Vernon came from nowhere, and Aos just sounded cool. It is one of the many moons of Saturn.

**Braig:** Braig, although not so much as Lumaria, is a more difficult charachter to write because I think he was somewhat different than Xigbar was. Lumaria isn't well-defined. That's why he's difficult.

**Supercells and Mesocyclones:** This came from the utter fascination I have with severe weather. It was somewhat of an obsession at the time. After some research, I found that extensive research on tonadoes was occuring in the Victorian Era, although closer to its ending. This story is closer to the Industrial Revolution moreso to the deep center of the Victorian Age. It was a squeeze, though, but a Supercell is a fully rotational thunderstorm, one that is more likely than surrounding systems to produce tornadoes or other forms of severe weather such as hail. A mesocyclone is a very in-depth term used rarely in common studies of meterology. A mesocyclone refers to the parts that are rotating, and from the root _mesa_ which means base or flat. It's the top or bottom of a supercell where tornadoes will usually spout out of. These terms came to knowledge in 1912 by the Federal Weather Bureau, around the time where this takes place, but I think the squeez could be made.

**Review! Concrit, and you get a chapter dedicated to you and your questions answered! **

**Also, there is a poll on my profile: Which team are you on? Which team _are_ you on?! Ienzo and Myde? Even and Lumaria, Dilan and Braig, or Arlene?! **

**Answer please! It takes a second! -brick'd-**

**Thanks for the support, please continue. **


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